


Lionheart

by cvblegirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Fantasy, M/M, Possessive Harry Potter, Protective Harry Potter, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvblegirl/pseuds/cvblegirl
Summary: Two souls intertwine in the search for freedom and redemption. One a King, and the other a Lionheart.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 29
Kudos: 151





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reworking of an old fic I posted years ago under a different fandom. It is inspired by various rpgs and is very self-indulgent, but I hope at least 1 person finds enjoyment in it. Not everything is tagged yet, more tags will be added as the story progresses. Comments are always appreciated and treasured. Thank you.
> 
> Not Beta'd or Britpicked (sorry!).

The tavern was nestled in between two long abandoned buildings, reached only through a dank, poorly lit alleyway. On the side of its chipping wooden door, hung an old sign that read, “The Burrow.” The tavern was owned by a seemingly unassuming middle-aged couple, the Weasley’s. They, along with their children, welcomed everyone into their tavern, but had no qualms in disposing of troublesome patrons. The tavern, with its faded walls and strong liquor, was frequented by low-class workmen, rogues, bandits, and, most importantly, by mercenaries. Groups of men and women gathered here in order to drink away their earnings, or to offer their services to those folk desperate enough to enter The Burrow. 

Draco Malfoy was one such desperate individual, in search of a particular mercenary. One that was rumored to frequent this place as if it were his own home, despite not being one of the Weasley’s many children.

Draco sat with his back to the wall, his hands around a glass of a liquid that smelled strongly of citrus and something spicy. A single sip told him that it would be best if he nursed the drink for all the time he was allowed to remain inside the rowdy tavern before getting thrown out. He watched with wide eyes as a man three tables down from him fell out of his chair in a drunken stupor, all to the great amusement of his companions. To his right and two tables away, a woman dressed in heavy armor had a man in a headlock. To his left, a fight broke out. Screams and battle cries reached his ears as two men, both highly intoxicated, used their brute strength against each other. Draco pressed himself further into his chair, trying to remain as small as possible. He pulled at the hood of his cloak, as if to confirm that it was still covering his head. He didn’t want to know what would happen to him if the people here saw what he hid under his hood. 

Just as one man pulled out a large, curved dagger and the other reached for his axe, an arrow flew right in between them. One of the men stumbled to avoid getting hit and the other tumbled over a chair. Draco found a petite young woman with long, fiery red hair at the end of the bow that had fired the arrow. Draco watched on as a well-built young man stepped out through a door from behind the bar, and easily clutched the two men by their shirts before he tossed them out of the tavern.

This was who Draco was looking for. His description matched the one Father Severus had shown him. The priest had been sure this young man was Draco’s way out of the city. Draco had not had time to ask how he was sure this man would help him before the man had disappeared.

 _“Seek out, Potter. He’s in need of someone like you, and in return, will secure your freedom.”_ Those had been Father Severus’ parting words. 

Draco stood as soon as the man walked back into the tavern, and nearly tripped over the hem his too-large cloak. His hands quickly went to his hood again, pulling it tight over his head as he swayed from nearly falling. 

“A-a word, please.” He croaked, unable to keep his voice from shaking. The man stopped and turned to face Draco, mouth set in a thin line and eyes unfazed by any emotion. He was an intimidating figure, tall of stature and with a strong build no doubt a result of his dangerous work. His eyes were a striking green, and there was a peculiar scar on his forehead, peeking out from behind the black strands of his unruly hair. 

After he received no word from the man, Draco continued, “I was told to find Potter the Mercenary. You are him, are you not?” Draco was glad his voice held strong this time. He was out of his element in this awful place. 

The man’s eyes grew a little, but they returned to their cold state immediately.

“And, who the hell are you?” Draco flinched back at the gruff voice. The man’s eyes narrowed into slits. He took a step toward Draco, imposing and threatening. A few raucous laughs tore into the smoke-filled air. Draco felt his face heat, his own glare beginning to form. He stood his ground and tried not to let the nervous swarm in his stomach sway his voice. 

“My name is Draco, “ He lowered his voice to almost a whisper as he continued, “I was an initiate at the Church and Father—”

“You’re a _priest_?” The words were said with such disgust, Draco cringed, taking a small step back.

“N-no, I’m not…it's a rather long story. If you would allow me one moment to explain…” Draco mumbled, he was quickly losing his nerve. Perhaps, he should look elsewhere for a solution to his predicament. The noisy atmosphere of the tavern grew in intensity, sending Draco on edge. The few eyes on them were a mix of curiosity and distrust. 

“Come with me, but be warned, one false move and I won’t hesitate to strike you down, _Priest_.” Potter intoned, voice low and cutting.

Draco looked up in time to see the man walking in the direction of the bar. With fumbling fingers, he adjusted his satchel and hurried after the man, not even bothering to correct him again.

Through the door behind the bar was a set of stairs that led to a dark hallway with a few wooden doors. Draco followed Potter until they reached a surprisingly cozy room. It was heavily decorated with various paintings, tapestries, wooden carvings, and bronze figurines. A fireplace was situated on the opposite side of where Draco was standing, it was unlit, but had a neat stack of firewood at its base. He had not been in a place with one since he left the Church. 

Draco stood awkwardly by the door frame as the man sat down in a wooden chair on the opposite side of the room, gaze sweeping over his form.

“What is someone like you doing here, and why are you looking for me?” Potter’s voice was stern, but the bite of disgust was gone.

“I’ve come in order to offer my assistance to you,” The glare sent his way didn’t deter him this time. “I am no good with a sword, nor do I have much skill with a bow, lance, or axe, but I…know magic well, and I am adept in the healing arts.” This caught the man’s attention.

“So, you _are_ a priest?” Potter accused.

Draco shook his head, “No, I am not.”

“Then how can you—” Draco held his hand up in order to cut off the rest of the words. He was growing a little frustrated with the black-haired man.

“I’ve been raised in the Church for a large part of my life. I was taken there when I was very young. There they taught me all about how to use magic and about the healing arts. I was to be Confirmed into the Fellowship this Winter, before I escaped. You see I…” Draco paused, chewing on his bottom lip. What he wanted to say next was a little difficult to explain. A demonstration would surely be more suitable.

“I’ll show you the reason why I was taken to the Church.” As he said this, Draco reached into his cloak and pulled out a small knife. Its hilt was a dark green and the double-edged blade was made of durable steel. It was the only weapon Draco carried with him. Potter threw him a look that easily read “you-better-remember-what-I-said.”

Taking a deep breath, Draco carefully pulled up the sleeve of his cloak and robe just far enough to reveal his forearm. Feeling the heavy gaze of the man, Draco dragged the sharp blade across his flesh, easily drawing blood. He heard the scraping of the wooden chair against the floor and an alarmed, “What are you doing?!”

“Watch.” Was all Draco said before he dropped the knife and held his other hand against his bleeding wound. His hand glowed a soft white. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose when he felt the wound begin to close. It didn’t hurt, but he could feel his skin stretching and pinching together. 

He opened his eyes when the sensation ended. A soft gasp left his lips when he saw that the other man was right in front of him, his wide, green eyes glued onto Draco’s still glowing hand. When Draco removed the hand from above his wrist the glowing came to an end and revealed the healed wound. All that was left behind was a smear of dried blood.

“How…” The man breathed out, turning confused eyes toward Draco.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, offering the baffled man a small smile. The man’s expression was too amusing, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from reacting to it, even if he was still nervous. Half-truths would have to do for now, he didn’t want to risk turning Potter even more against him. 

“I have been able to do this ever since I can remember. Because of this,” Draco flexed his fingers, “the Church took me from my home. That’s why…that’s why I will help you in any way I can in order for you to reach the Imperial City. I don’t have much, but I can also offer you a bit of gold. Just, please, allow me to accompany you.” Draco urged, desperate to reunite with his hometown, with his nearly-forgotten family.

The silence that fell between them was the longest Draco had ever experienced. His palms itched and his legs felt restless. The harsh thumping of his heart echoed inside his ears and his throat tightened.

“How did you find me?” Potter finally asked.

“I heard of you through Father Severus, I don’t know how he knew of you, but he was adamant that I find you.” 

A look of clarity dawned on Potter’s face before he nodded, “He frequents the market. I know who he is.” That was all of the explanation given. Draco didn’t want to push his luck, so he let his curiosity ebb. Secrets, secrets everywhere. 

“One last question, if you escaped from the Church, won’t they be searching for you?”

Draco stilled, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Yes, they will.”

“And, won’t going to the city they rule over the most lead to your eventual capture?”

Draco swallowed around the lump quickly forming in his throat.

“P-Probably… but you shouldn’t concern yourself with that. As soon as we reach that city, you won’t hear or see me again. Please, I promise no trouble will come out of it for you once we reach our destination.” Draco kept his head down, eyes squeezed shut. The silence dragged on and with it Draco’s hope of making it out of this wretched place.

“Fine. I’d be a fool to turn you away after learning of your _special_ abilities. I will depart in two days. Come here before dawn prepared to leave. Understood, Prie—Draco, was it?”

Draco straightened his back, mouth slightly agape. When the other raised a brow in question, Draco nodded fiercely. He couldn’t believe this was happening. 

He would finally get away; he would finally reclaim his own path. 

...

Draco was seated at the exact same spot in the tavern two days later. The atmosphere was much more subdued given the early hour in the morning. He sipped on the warm tea the Weasley matron had made for him when he arrived. When he’d tried to pay for it, the older woman had brushed it off.

“On the house, dearie. Heaven knows you boys will need all the energy you can get.” Mrs. Weasley had said, smiling. Draco had thanked her as he took the cup. 

The owners of The Burrow weren’t what he’d imagined them to be. The couple exuded a warm and calming presence that counteracted with the raucous of the tavern’s clientele. 

Draco was just about finished with his tea when he heard the rough sound of a door slam and a pair of arguing voices. He looked up and saw as Potter and a redheaded young woman rounded the side of the bar. Draco recognized her as the archer from his first visit here. They seemed to be in a serious argument, but they kept their voices low enough that Draco couldn’t make out much of what they were saying. 

“…talked about it, Gin.” 

“You. You talked…”

“…I have to…”

“…you always do, Harry.” 

Suddenly fierce brown eyes turned to look at him, and Draco quickly looked away. He was grateful his hood obscured the dark flush that creeped up his face. Draco occupied himself with re-examining the contents inside of his satchel until Potter was ready to leave. 

They departed as the sun began its trek over the horizon. Potter mostly stayed silent for the first few hours of their journey. A journey they would make mostly on foot, since traveling by horseback attracted more attention. Draco had asked Potter how long he thought their journey would take. After consideration, Potter replied in a dry tone that he’d heard the trip by horseback was around a fortnight, so it would take them at least twice as long as that. 

Draco had stayed silent after that. It was obvious that whatever had happened that morning between Potter and the woman had put his new traveling companion in a foul mood. Perhaps, a lovers quarrel, Draco’s mind supplied. 

Whatever the case, Draco had no intention on poking the beast, so he remained quiet as well. He had never minded the silence, and the open fields of the country roads once they reach the outskirts of the city offered more than enough distractions.

A particularly strong gust of wind rattled the branches overhead and nipped at Draco’s face. They’d finally reached the neighboring forest, and Draco noticed how the large trees they were trekking through were beginning to lose their greenish coloring. A few reddened leaves littered the ground and the branches of the tall trees appeared dull and listless. Winter was fast approaching.

“We won’t make it to the next town today. Let’s set up camp around here for tonight.” The gruff voice pulled him away from his assessment of the rapidly dying vegetation.

They traveled until Potter found a spot he deemed safe enough to rest for the evening. Here the trees were thicker and closely condensed. It was nothing compared to a warm bed, but at least they weren’t out in the open. The roads leading to the city they left behind were a good distance away.

They argued over whether or not a fire was necessary, Draco insisted it was while Potter declared it was too dangerous. They could be easily spotted by the smoke, Potter said in an irritated tone that left Draco frowning. Potter was right, of course, but would he always carry with him that sour disposition?

“It’s not even that cold.” He heard the other mutter. Draco glanced over at him and watched as the man settled down against the trunk of a tree, still wearing his black plated armor. He wondered if the armor provided him with more coverage against the gusting winds. If it did, he was no one to talk about it not being that cold. Draco sat down on a softened patch of grass, curling his cloak around himself. He’d have to buy a different outfit at the text town they stopped at. His Church robes would more than likely just place a marker on his back for the Imperial knights. 

“I’m not used to being out in the wild.” Draco murmured, closing his eyes when a gust of cool wind blew through the trees. 

“Of course, you’ve been living a pampered life with the Church for so long. You’ve probably never experienced a true winter.” The disdain in Potter’s voice grew with each word. Draco fought the urge to get up and walk away. To where, he didn’t know, but having a traveling companion so fixed in hating him for no reason was not at all something he had signed up for. Especially, when he was providing Potter with assistance _and_ payment.

“A _pampered_ life I never asked for. One where I was constantly watched and never had a moment of true peace.” Draco turned his glare toward Potter, jaw tensed with thinly veiled anger. The man really knew how to flare Draco’s temper. 

“Winters in my hometown were harsh. The crops died and we are left to scavenge what we could in order to survive. Most of the animals left, and people with weak constitution didn’t make it through the season. Looters, most of which were dressed in Imperial uniforms, ransacked the smaller villages and left people with nothing. I never understood why they only did this during the winter. Now, I know. People are too weak to fight back when they are starving and freezing to death.” Draco was panting by the end, his hands trembling against his lap. He looked away from Potter’s somber expression, his chest heaving from the boiling anger under his skin. This anger was not geared towards Potter this time. It was for the blurry faces of those who came and took what they pleased. For those who took everything his parents had worked so hard to gain, not caring that they were slowly killing away everything they touched. 

When the Church heard of him, of his strange ability, they came during one such cruel winter. They took him in the dead of night as he cried out for his mother and father.

Another chilly current of wind passed through the woods, Draco closed his eyes again, and leaned his head back on the rough bark of the tree, hoping that he was tired enough to fall asleep quickly.

It could have been his imagination, or the deceiving sounds of the woods, but he thought that right before he fell into unconsciousness a murmured apology left Potter’s lips.

Neither of them spoke of what had happened that night, but the next day Draco found a blanket made of fur that was not his, draped over his body, and Potter’s voice was no longer laced in acid when he spoke to him.

…

“Tickets to the Coliseum, half price for the next hour!”

“Pelts, at a great price for the upcoming winter!”

“Jewelry, precious stones, and hand-crafted ornaments for that special someone!”

Draco looked around in amazement at all the makeshift stands surrounding the streets. Merchants of all ages were showcasing their products at the top of their voices, trying to gain the attention of all those who roamed the market. They’d finally made it to the next big city. 

“There’s got to be at least one decent inn around here.” He heard Potter mutter. He was about to suggest they ask a local when a scantily clad woman approached them, blocking their way. 

“Are you gentlemen, looking for a bit of entertainment?” The woman smiled slyly, fluttering her long eyelashes. Draco’s face flushed upon realizing what the woman was offering. He took a step back, bumping into Potter’s side.

“O-oh, n-no, we’re j-just—”

“A tempting offer, milady, but I am escorting this priest to the Church in Northpass,” when Potter said this, he opened the front of Draco’s cloak, revealing the white and silver robes he wore underneath. Draco held back the gasp of surprise at having the other’s hands on him, and then grew weary at the withering look the woman sent his way.

“Too bad, we coulda had fun, handsome.” She said this while looking up at Potter, a grin taking over her mouth.

“Tell me, milady, which direction is the closest inn?” Draco looked away, not being able to stomach Potter’s irritatingly suave smile, or that fake friendly tone. Or, was it fake at all? The sight of a beautiful young woman had perhaps put Potter in a better mood. He was a man, after all, but then so was Draco. Yet, to him the physical appearance of the woman did not pique his interest in the slightest. Could it be because of the Church’s influence in his life, or… something else entirely?

Just as his face began to redden once more, a strong hand pulled him along, disrupting his thoughts.

“I didn’t think seeing a woman like that would affect you this much.” The words weren’t mocking, but they still caused Draco to drown in embarrassment.

“No, i-it’s not…” _her_ , Draco caught himself before saying that last word. He looked away when Potter’s eyes bore into his. Potter released his hold on him and walked ahead, Draco following quietly behind. 

“Why did you tell that woman that I was a priest?” Draco asked as he sat down on his neatly made bed. They’d arrived at the only inn that still had rooms available for travelers shortly before nightfall. The inn was large, with a bustling cafeteria, a good-sized training ground, which was used by those travelers who came to compete in the local coliseum. The thing that had excited Draco the most were the private baths they offered. He’d taken his time to wipe away the dirt and grime off of him, taking extra care to wash his hair, the pale blond locks reaching his mid-back. He’d also discarded his old robes and purchased a pair of durable black trousers and a long-sleeved shirt to keep him warm. He, of course, kept his cloak firmly secured over his shoulders and over his head.

“By this time, I’m sure the Church is looking for you, and even if they suspect what your destination will be, they don’t know what route you’ll take. When rumor spreads that a priest came through here, most will say you were heading to a town near Northpass. Even if they catch on to the lie, they wouldn’t risk not checking that area as well, since it’s the shortest route toward the Imperial city. We, on the other hand, will travel west, it’s longer and a bit more dangerous, but we’ll at least get a head start.”

As Potter explained this, he began to peel off his armor. It occurred to Draco then that it was the first time he’d seen the other man without it on. Underneath the heavy looking armor, Potter’s body was big. The man had broad shoulders and a wide, muscular chest that was barely hidden by the cotton material of his undershirt. The mercenary’s appearance made Draco feel slightly inadequate. Inside of the Church, Draco had been kept under watchful supervision by the knights. He’d never been able to train or engage in any kind of physical combat. Draco had kept himself active in anyway he could, mostly by running errands for Father Severus or by tending to the large garden. He would spend hours watering and maintaining the plants and herbs used for poultices and potions. 

After a few more casual words between them, Potter announced he was going to take a bath and left Draco alone in the room. Draco laid down on his bed, covering himself with the blankets. He was exhausted and it didn’t take long for his eyes to shut and sleep to overcome him.

Draco slept soundly for the first time in a long while and was unaware of Potter returning to the room minutes later, or of the curious gaze directed at him. 

…

They left the lively Inn the following morning after a hearty breakfast, meat had been served – oh how long had he gone without meat? – and a quick trip to the market. Draco bought some dried fruits and nuts, a small wedge of cheese, and a few herbs. Potter had stuck close to him and had only bought a few strips of dried meat and asked to have their flasks refilled with water. Draco noticed him eyeing a few pieces of jewelry and he couldn’t stop himself from asking the man about the woman from back at the tavern.

“The woman you were with, the one with red hair, is she your wife?” Draco asked. He was surprised to hear a soft huff of laughter leave the man. 

“No, she’s not.” Potter replied and then countered with a question of his own, “Why do you want to know?” 

Draco kept his gaze firmly away from the man, “Curious, is all. We’ll be traveling for a long time, and I thought we should get to know each other better.” 

“Hmm, I see. Then, why don’t you tell me why you keep your hood on all the time?” 

_Now he’d done it._

Damn his curiosity.

Draco tripped over his words, trying and failing to come up with a lie. 

“Are you balding? You do strike me as the vain type.” Potter grinned, and Draco fumed sending the man a vicious glare. 

“Balding?! I’ll have you know I have excellent hair, which is more than I can say about that unruly mess of hair on your head.” Draco said, arms crossed tightly over his shoulders. 

“A scar then, or some sort of disfigurement? Your face looks nice from what I can see, so maybe—” Draco cut him off, cheeks heating.

“What about _your_ scar?” 

“Oh no, you’ll get no answers from me since you haven’t answered any of my questions.” Potter’s tone was lighthearted. Draco was a little thrown off by the man’s change in attitude, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant or unwelcome.

“I...I just don’t want people to recognize me that easily as the priest that escaped.” Draco was finally able to come up with a decent reply, another half-truth. Potter hummed.

“It’ll be awhile until we reach another town like this one, are you sure you got everything you need?” Potter’s question came as they arrived at the cobblestone bridge that led out of the city.

“I’ve got everything.”

With that they set off in the early morning sun toward the path that would lead them closer to Draco’s hometown.

…

Draco awoke with a start when he felt hands descend upon his body. His mouth opened, but he was unable to scream when a rough hand pressed itself against his lips. His eyes, unfocused and still full of sleep, shifted in every direction to try and make sense of what was happening. His heart stopped when he saw the fuzzy image of Potter struggling in the ground, two large men pinning him down as a third held a sword to his head. Potter was bloodied and bruised.

“We’ll get ourselves one tasty reward for this one, don’t you think so, men?” A depraved voice sounded off from behind Draco as the hand around his waist tightened painfully. Rowdy laughter followed that statement.

“What about him here?” One of the men holding Potter down asked, his pudgy face dirtied and riddled with scars.

“Kill’em. We’re only after the little blond _elf_.” A shiver of dread raced down Draco’s back and his entire body began to tremble. Draco groaned when the man pulled off his hood. 

“Wonder how much gold they’ll withhold if I cut off your pretty pointy ears?” 

The group of men… of monsters, howled and jeered. Draco closed his eyes, ignoring the tears of anger that welled in his eyes, and willed the sounds around him to disappear. The words of the ancient language he’d fervently studied flowed through his mind. He connected his mind, his body, and his soul to the restless Spirits inhabiting the forest. He repeated the Old words, words that formed an intricate spell that seduced the Spirits and caused a sharp clap of thunder to rang out. The hands around him loosened as the man fell to the ground after being struck and Draco broke free, silently reciting the spells he had memorized. He targeted the surge of lightning coming from the tips of his fingers toward one of the men holding Potter down and watched as Potter leapt to his feet. Potter shoved the other man, landing a sold punch right at the man’s face, knocking him out. 

There were four men left standing, all of them wielding weapons.

“Stay behind me.” Potter barked out as he reached Draco’s side, shielding Draco with his body. Draco’s mind reeled, surely, surely Potter had seen him. Seen what he was, and yet the man was still willing to protect him. Draco wiped at his eyes, steeling his emotions. 

One of the men lunged at Potter, sword in hand. In the flurry of movement, Draco missed when Potter acquired the man’s sword, but not when Potter plunged the sword into the man, blood spilling onto the ground. This action enraged the rest of the men, who lunged themselves at Potter all at once. Draco’s nerves consumed him as he watched the brutal fight unfold before him. He was frozen to the spot, only reacting when a dagger punctured Potter’s chest. He couldn’t see exactly how badly the man was injured, but he couldn’t just stand by. Trying to calm his erratic breathing, Draco focused and recited the most powerful spell he knew by memory. He faintly heard the boisterous cheering of the Spirits around him before a strong gust of wind mingled with scorching flames engulfed the remaining men. They didn’t even have time to scream before the fire consumed them.

His head spun and throbbed, and Draco fell to his knees. He’d never used such powerful spells before, the Church prohibited their Initiates from performing them. 

He looked up when a hand fell on his shoulder. Potter’s eyes were wide, and Draco briefly wondered if he was afraid of him. His eyes then fell on a patch of red slowly growing from behind Potter’s breastplate.

“You’re injured.” Draco reached out and dragged Potter down to his level. His head was pounding terribly, and his hands shook as he tried to remove the man’s armor. Potter’s hands replaced Draco’s when his only fumbled.

The bloody gash underneath Potter’s shirt ran vertically along the man’s ribcage, in an area the armor plates didn’t cover. Ignoring his headache, Draco gently pressed his hand against the wound. His hand immediately glowed a soft white and the gash slowly began to close. He heard Potter hiss at the sensation as he ran his hand down the wound, effectively healing it.

“That should…” Draco trailed off, his eyes growing heavy. The pounding of his head deafening.

He felt Potter’s hands on his shoulders and saw his lips form around words he couldn’t hear. Strong arms held him as his entire world faded to black.


	2. Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the initial support. <3

The first time Draco had used his magic in front of others his father had been furious. He’d snatched Draco up by the back of his collar and had dragged him away from the scene he’d created. Draco had watched the eyes of those that had surrounded him, some shone with gratitude and others with raw, unadulterated fear. 

" _Why_?” His father had asked once they’d gotten home, the anger in his face mingling with the desperation in his voice. He’d never looked this haggard and Draco couldn’t help the tremble that overtook his hands. 

“I-I’m sorry, father. Pansy, she was d-dying and I—”

“No.” The firm retort had Draco curling into himself, head bent low. Shame heated his face. 

“What have we always told you, Draco?” His father gave no pause for Draco to respond. “You were never to show others. You were to keep it a secret.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco sniffled out when his father took hold of his shoulders, wild eyes pinning Draco’s watery gaze. 

“ _They_ will know, Draco. _They_ will come for you.” 

And so, _they_ did.

…

It was the sweet songs of birds that roused Draco from his sleep. He blinked up at the swaying tree branches above him, watching as the sunlight played with the shadows of the falling leaves. It was at that moment, that everything came back to him.

The ambush. The blood. The revelation.

Draco jolted up; eyes frantic as he looked in every direction. The heavy thumping of his heart echoed in his ears, deafening. 

“Woah, hey, don’t get up so fast.” The familiar voice said, and Potter was suddenly in front of him, looking a little disheveled and bruised but otherwise fine. He held his hands up, palms facing toward Draco as if he were trying to calm a wild, frightened animal. 

Potter was still here...with him. 

“You didn’t leave, even though I…” _Lied_. Draco’s hand went to one of his uncovered pointed ears, his eyes dropping to his lap. Shame crept up his neck, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. 

“Oh, right. Well, I actually...I already knew.” Draco snapped his eyes back up, watching as Potter rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful look on his face.

“How?!” Draco all but squawked, cringing at the high-pitched tone of his own voice. 

“Um, well from back at the last inn we stayed at. I had a peek while you were sleeping.” Potter’s voice was much lower, and Draco could swear he saw a dusting of red blush on the man’s bronze colored cheeks. Draco pondered this information for a moment. The only sounds coming from the birds and the soft breeze. 

Draco’s first reaction was anger, but the swirl of relief he felt knowing that his identity didn’t seem to bother Potter tapered it a bit. He’d never met another human outside of the walls of the Church that didn’t look upon him with disgust or suspicion. Father Severus had been the first human he’d met that hadn’t treated him coldly, and although the man wasn’t a kind or gentle soul, he’d never disrespected Draco or begrudged his existence like other humans he’d met within the Church. 

After the silence dragged on, Potter spoke up again.

“I’m sorry for… _that._ I shouldn’t have violated your privacy—”

“No. I should have told you.” Draco said, slumping against a tree. He was feeling drained again. “Not only am I being persecuted by the Church for escaping, which already carries a hefty sentence, but I'm also a target for being Elven. Traveling with me _will_ put you at great risk, and you had a right to know that before accepting my offer.” 

Draco wanted to say that he understood if Potter wanted to leave him. That his situation would lead them down a dangerous road, and Potter had every right to leave and not look back. He didn’t owe Draco anything, didn’t even know him that well to care what happened to him, but…the words wouldn’t come. Draco was so terribly afraid of being left alone again. He was selfish and didn’t want to lose the man’s companionship. He’d never been able to stand the solitude. 

“You aren’t the only one they’re going to be looking for. I don’t care what you are, or why they’re after you. We made a deal and I am a man of my word.” His solemn response wasn’t what Draco was expecting. Potter looked determined, the fierce look in his eyes catching Draco’s breath. 

“Besides, you’ve already saved my life once and it’s only fair that I repay the favor.” A grin spread across Potter’s lips. 

“As it’ll be fair when you answer some of my questions since you _did_ violate my privacy and all.” Draco countered, smiling lightly.

Potter chuckled softly at that.

“Fine, but first you need to eat. You look about ready to pass out again.”

Draco didn’t argue with that. 

It was only after they’d had their share of food and water that they prepared to continue their travel. 

Potter had rummaged through the remains of the bandits that had fallen upon them and had found very little of worth. There was a small pouch filled with 30 gold coins, a few crushed herbs, and scraps of paper that were too soiled in blood and grime to get any useful information out of them. 

“It’s nice to know my capture is worth a measly 30 coins.” Draco said derisively, nose scrunching up. 

“Your capture, my _death_.” Potter said, throwing an odd grin at Draco’s frown. 

They traveled far into the dead of night, the moon offering enough illumination for them to guide themselves through the woods. Draco didn’t feel tired, but his legs were beginning to ache a bit. He didn’t want to hold back their progress and simply followed close behind Potter. There were a few strange animal noises that filtered through the air every now and then, but nothing in these woods seemed to want any interactions with them. They were nearing the edge of the river of trees when Potter stopped them. 

“We should rest here before leaving the forest. We’ll be less safe out in the open road.” Draco nodded and inwardly celebrated as he settled himself down next to the sturdy bark of a large oak tree. Draco was dozed off before he even knew it.

…

They arrived at a small village by midday the following day. It had only one inn that smelled of mold and had little insects scurrying about. Draco scrunched his nose in disgust and refused to touch the food provided to them.

He wasn’t _that_ hungry. 

“…heard her husband got dragged away last night, poor thing.”

“We told’em to stay in after sundown. They wouldn’t listen.” 

Draco’s eyes widened at the hushed conversation to his right. The two older men were sitting at a table near the wall, heads bent low. He heard Potter shift in his seat, no doubt having caught that snippet of conversation himself. They were sitting at the bar, the only other patrons beside the two older men and the inn keeper. 

“Dragged away by what?” Draco nearly jumped when Potter’s voice rang out. He turned to find Potter rising from his seat next to him and going over to the men’s table. 

“Don’t know.” The first man answered, eyeing Potter suspiciously. 

“Some monster feeding off us is what.” The second man said, terrified voice wavering. “It’s been comin’ at night for the past week! First it took the farm animals and now it’s comin’ for us.”

“Calm down, Alfred.” The inn keeper said earning a wild look from the terrified man. 

Draco stayed silent as the scene unfolded. Potter asked the men a few more questions but wasn’t able to get any more information about what the creature looked like. Draco made his own inferences given the little details he had. A creature with the taste for human flesh narrowed it down to a few options, and none of them were ones Draco wanted to encounter. 

“Perhaps, we should get going.” Draco whispered to Potter when the man returned to his seat. Potter stared down at him, frowning. The man’s silence spoke volumes.

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to Potter.

“You want to stay, don’t you?” He whispered furiously. Fear filled Draco’s chest, his heart speeding up.

“Yes.” Draco couldn’t very well argue with Potter’s determined face. His glare disappeared with a short huff. 

“Fine, but if that thing eats you, I won’t forgive you for leaving me here.” Draco said, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. 

“I’ve killed plenty of man-eating beasts before, don’t worry.” Potter grinned. Draco wouldn’t believe Potter’s confidence if it weren’t for the man’s impressive build. Being ambushed in the dead of night was one thing but stalking and hunting down prey was something Draco wanted to see Potter do. If from far away. 

It wasn’t until night befell them, that Draco’s nerves returned. They’d spent the rest of their afternoon wandering through the village and speaking to the few people that were willing to share what they’d seen or heard. Again, the information they received was scarce and very little was actually known about what the creature was. 

“It’s odd. Almost as if the creature were purposefully trying to hide its identity.” Draco said, pacing around the room they had rented for the night. He watched wearily as Potter fastened his armor. 

“Most creatures that hunt hide only long enough to stalk their prey, but once they catch it, they care very little about who sees them. This one waits until nightfall to hunt and drags its prey away from the village to feed. Perhaps, it has a nest around here?” Draco pondered out loud. Potter hummed in answer, getting up from his seat. 

“I’ll find out soon enough.” Potter said, moving toward the door. Draco followed, drawing his hood over his head, and tying it securely. He nearly ran into Potter’s back when the man stopped. 

“What are you doing?” Potter asked as Draco took a small step back from him. 

“What are _you_ doing?” Draco huffed. Potter threw him a bewildered expression. 

“You aren’t coming with me, Draco.” The firm voice the man used had Draco fidgeting, but he had already come to terms with his resolve. 

“Oh yes I am, Potter.” 

It took a few moments of staring each other down for Potter to sigh loudly, dramatically, and allow Draco to accompany him. It wasn’t that Draco was eager to see this mysterious, deadly creature but that he wouldn’t be able to relax while Potter was out there maybe getting killed and eaten. The man was, after all, his protector and guide for as long as they reached the Imperial City.

“Stay close.” Potter ordered as they left the safety of the inn. Dark clouds moved through the dark blue sky, letting only a sliver of moonlight for illumination. The air was soft, causing the leaves of the trees to sway effortlessly. Aside from that, it was so very quiet. Suspiciously so.

They moved through the winding trails of the village, scanning for anything out of place. There was nothing.

“Maybe it’s not hungry tonight.” Draco said as they reached the edge of the village. A thin creek split the ground, the sound of running water calming his nerves. Past the creek he could see the dark outline of the forest that lay beyond. 

“If the creature came from the forest, it would have to have made some sort of noise. A creature large enough to kill and drag a man away isn’t usually so light-footed.” Potter said, frown ever present.

“I didn’t see any tracks anywhere, did you?” Draco asked, eyeing the land surrounding them. He had expected to find some sort of animal or creature prints on the ground, but the soil seemed undisturbed everywhere they’d searched. The only signs of movement on the ground were regular human footprints. 

“No.” 

A snap of a twig had Draco jumping, wide eyes turning toward the source of the noise. He saw a man emerge from behind one of the wooden houses, eyes glowing an eerily red. He stalked forward toward them, his gait stilted and stiff.

“I tried to stop it. I tried. It won’t let me. It won’t let me.” The gruff voice muttered, getting louder the closer the man got. Draco held his breath, trying to keep from bolting. Potter withdrew his sword, his stance changing into a defensive one. 

“Please, stop it. I can’t stop. It won’t let me.” The voice was hoarse, anguished. 

“It’s that man from the inn.” Draco whispered, taking a step back as Potter took one forward. 

“Who did this to you, Alfred?” Potter asked. 

“I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it.” Alfred’s movements became twitchy, a groan leaving his mouth as sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight. Alfred stood still, sniffing the air before him, and suddenly he moved. Alfred rushed forward with deadly speed, disjointed hand reaching for Potter. 

Draco jumped out from behind Potter, eyes frantic as he saw the two men make contact. Potter’s sword dug into Alfred’s abdomen, but this didn’t slow the man down. 

“He’s enthralled, Potter!” Draco shouted. “Don’t let him bite you!” 

Potter grunted his response and used his foot to tear Alfred away from his sword. The two men lunged at each other again, Potter getting another clean strike across one of Alfred's arms. The screeching that resulted from the injury had Draco shivering.

Draco took a deep breath and concentrated on a spell. He let the magic in the air flow through his core, the restless spirits heeding his call, and fire erupted from beneath Alfred’s feet. The man screamed, an inhuman noise that pierced the night sky. 

He’d read about these creatures, though there was little known of them because of their reclusiveness. Fire usually did the trick in destroying them, along with…

“Cut off its head!” Draco yelled over the creature’s cries. Potter moved quickly, getting a clear cut through the creature’s neck. Draco urged the flames to consume the still moving remains, watching in disgust as the smoke turned a deep black. 

When the smoke cleared only dark ashes remained. 

“What _was_ that?” Potter asked, chest heaving. 

“A thrall.” Draco responded, eyes searching the area surrounding them. 

“The master vampire that enthralled him must have already left this place. They don’t usually leave their thralls to their own devices, but the reckless ones do so in order to create a panic.” Draco paused. “It’s strange, though. Vampires have been dormant for years now, it’s been over a century since there’s been reports of an attack.” The Church kept very detailed reports of dark creature attacks, and vampires were low risk on the list. What would make them start acting up now?

“I’d never seen one before.” Potter said, crouching down to inspect the ashes on the singed grass. 

“Neither have I. Only in the pages of the books I’ve read.” Draco crouched down next to Potter. “After draining the bodies of the villagers, it probably dumped them somewhere in the forest.” 

Their conversation was put on hold when some of the villagers came out of their homes. Whispers broke out that turned into louder chatter, a few of them coming to thank Potter and him for what they’d done. 

“Alfred was the one who’d started telling everyone to stay indoors after sundown. Said there was a creature out here taking animals and killing people.” A woman said, tears running down her cheeks. 

“How did this happen?” Another asked, a small sleeping child clutched to her chest. When Potter looked lost for words, Draco spoke up.

“It may have been a traveler that passed by a few days ago. Alfred’s will was not yet gone, he tried to fight it, but the influence he was under grew stronger with each nightfall. A skilled vampire is able to hide its true nature, although why it only chose to enthrall just one among you is strange.” 

A hush fell over the crowd and many dispersed and returned to their homes. Draco followed Potter as he returned to the inn. Once inside, the inn keeper called them over.

“We had some folk come by here at the beginning of the month. They only stayed a day, and barely said a word to anyone. They arrived early in the morning, before sunrise and didn’t leave until late at night. Far as I knew, they stayed in their room the whole time they were here.” 

There was little else to say after that. They retreated into their room and Draco dropped himself onto his bed, not caring about the various holes in the blanket that covered the tattered cot. 

“What are you thinking?” Draco asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He heard Potter shuffle out of his armor and the creaking of the bed as the man settled into it. 

“I’m making connections that may not be there, but if they are could mean a whole lot more trouble than I’d originally thought.” 

“Does this have anything to do with your reasons for going to the Imperial City?” Curiosity thrummed through Draco’s veins. 

“I don’t know.” Potter replied quietly, and Draco was sure the man would leave it at that. He closed his eyes and tried to doze off. 

“I’m looking for a man.” Potter began. “He is an expert in hiding in the shadows and has drummed up support for his _cause_.” The last word was said with such venom that it had Draco sitting up and facing the other man. The room was dark enough that he couldn’t fully see Potter’s face, but he could practically feel the hatred radiating off of him. 

“That man is the one that gave me my scar. He did so on the night he killed my parents.” 

A thousand things ran through Draco’s head, but all he could choke out was a faint, “Why?”

Potter gave a humorless chuckle.

“They refused to bow down to his whims. He went to my parents for support, an alliance of sorts, but they could see he was dangerous. He spoke of chaos and turmoil but bathed those words in honey to lessen the acidic taste.” 

“Who is he?” Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed now, eyes wide.

“He goes by the name Voldemort.” Potter said solemnly. Draco had never heard that name before. 

“This man…if he were rounding up support by dark creatures the Church would have known, but I’d never…” Draco’s words died off at Potter’s short snort. 

“I think the Church’s priorities have been skewed for some time, don’t you?” 

Draco didn’t know how to respond. He himself was proof that the Church’s focus on tracking dark creatures was no longer a priority. They cared more about finding those Touched by magic than they did anything else. 

“So, this man…Voldemort, you believe him to be hiding in the Imperial City?” 

“Yes, hiding in plain sight. I know he is going to try and take over the capital there, as well as the Church.” Draco couldn’t contain his gasp. Could one man hold that much power? 

“You’re not trying to stop him all by yourself, are you?” Inexplicably panic rose up Draco’s throat. 

“I would if I could.” Potter’s voice was soft, a sadness that had not been there before lacing his words. Potter remained quiet for a moment. 

“I…I’m sorry about your parents.” The words came before Draco could think better of them. They fell flat amidst everything Potter had told him, the cruel tragedy of losing one’s parents so young. The thought made him ache for his own. He couldn’t quiet remember his mother’s smile, or her gentle fingers soothing over his hair. His father’s stern yet loving voice faded each year, his mind cinching around whatever precious memory he still had left. However, he still had the hope of seeing them one day, something Potter did not. 

“Thank you.” Potter said before he laid down to sleep. Draco mirrored his movements and curled into himself. 

He fell asleep to the sound of Potter’s soft, even breathing. 

…

They departed the following morning after receiving a few items in gratitude for what they had done. Draco watched as Potter shook hands with some of the villagers, a bright smile on his face. He wondered if this was how Potter had looked before he’d decided to change his course in life. A valiant mercenary heeding the call of people in need. 

“So, I told you about my reasons for this journey, what are yours?” Potter asked after they’d covered a good bit of land. 

“When the Church took me away from my home, I left behind a piece of my heart.” Draco said earnestly. “I don’t know if my parents are still alive, but I couldn’t stand another day without finding out.” 

“They didn’t let you keep contact with them?” 

“No. Contact with the world outside of the Church is forbidden until one takes the Rites. Even then, very few Priests are actually allowed to leave.” Draco turned to find a horrified look on Potter’s face. 

“Where are they exactly, your parents?” Potter asked, halting his stride. Draco came to stand next to him. 

“A town south of the Imperial City. It can only be reached by ship, which I plan to take at the southern harbor.” Draco had his entire trip planned out. Father Severus had provided much needed insight on the comings and goings of the city and which ship he could board that would take him across the Green Sea. If he just followed his path carefully, and with Potter’s help reaching the city, Draco was sure he’d see his family soon. 

They continued on their way with renewed energy. Both clearly set on what they had to do, but unaware of the winding road they were descending upon.


End file.
